Their senses heightened, their attention fully ahead of them (though Jenika did occasionally check behind them for spiders creeping up), the party advanced, picking their way through the cleared rubble. Rynn was able to tell that some of the stones had long been cleared, their surfaces worn smooth by dripping water from the ceiling. As they got further in, the stones began to have a rougher look to them, indicating to the ranger that they had been more recently moved.
Khaska found his breath coming sharp and fast. After years of hearing of the tales of Tawru, and months of searching, he might very well be within minutes of finding the sword of his childhood hero. The heavy armor around him seemed light, and the rough ground easy to traverse, as his mind wandered to what might be ahead. Internally, after a few moments, he chided himself, focusing on his breathing and bringing his reaction to the situation more under control. But there was still an element of excitement. A moment of destiny seemed at hand and here, in this dungeon, abandoned for centuries by the dwarves that carved it, and the final resting place of a noble Knight of the Silver Dragons, he may find a relic that had been searched for by members of his race over many generations. He was awed, humbled, excited, and nervous all at the same time. As he advanced, he reflected on his adventures of the last few months. What a strange path had led him hear, from goblins and sacred sticks, to dragon riders and death cults. He had made friends, like his companions behind him, and he had lost friends, whether to evil, like Amara, to circumstance, like Orensland, or to untimely death, like Fan.
Eventually his light illuminated a door ahead. The passageway had gotten more and more narrow, and they had to pick carefully through the debris, wary of causing more to collapse on them. The door itself was massive, two iron sides each pointing out. It was obvious that the collapse had made opening them difficult, but they had managed to swing open a few degrees each, enough to create an opening that one could squeeze through. A softly glowing silvery light came from beyond the doors. There was some writing on them, elvish, if he wasn’t mistaken, but he couldn’t read it. He relayed all of this as he could to his companions, who could not see well past him in the narrow confines of the cleared passageway. He swallowed hard, pausing a few feet from the entrance to the next room.
“We’re with you, Khaska,” Jenika said, from the back. “Whatever we find.”
Buoyed by the silent strength of his companions behind him, he stepped forward into the door.
The room was small, each wall about twenty-five feet long. In the center was a stone sarcophagus. The top had been removed; it had fallen to the ground and split in half, the two portions resting on the side of the sarcophagus. The strange light was coming from a glowing circle of some silvery powder that ringed the sarcophagus. A goblin body lay to the side, its head completely chopped off, collapsed in a heap where it died. Khaska brought his scimitar up to an en guarde position, wary.
“I can read this,” came Rynn’s voice. Jenika stopped just at the entrance, to turn and look at the ranger. “My final resting place, that I may keep the evil of my actions from spreading further.”
Khaska’s brow furrowed.
“For what reason would entombing himself allow him to contain evil?” he asked. “He was a full Knight up to the day he died. He must have been good.”
Rynn stepped into the room finally, beckoning to Ranna.
“I don’t know. It was a loose translation of the words . . .”
Rynn cut off as a low growl emitted from Ranna’s throat. The wolf was just outside the doors, illuminated by the torchlight and the softly glowing circle on the floor. Her teeth were bared in a rictus of hatred, and her hackles were completely raised.
Rynn drew his sword quickly and looked around.
“There’s something in here,” he said. “She can feel it.”
The three of them froze, eyes sweeping the room. As their eyes fully adjusted to the new light, they were able to see around the room more completely, but nothing could be seen. Nothing stirred, except Ranna, whose growls were continuous. The wolf hovered just outside the doors, barely visible from the light.
After a long while, when nothing happened, Rynn took a step forward, tentatively. Still nothing happened. He began moving carefully, weapon still at the ready, eyes scanning back and forth. He edged to his left, circling around the sarcophagus and trying to stay away from the glowing circle of dust. Down on the ground were two skeleton arms, ripped off at the elbow, knocked askew. He got on his tiptoes to peer into the sarcophagus. Inside there was a skeleton, slightly propped up on that same side, as if it had been disturbed and then not fully replaced in its resting state. Khaska began to follow suit, but circling around to the right. He crept closer to the circle, leaning down to look at it. He tried to think what it could be, but he could not think of a spell that would be so long-lasting and made up of such a component.
The top of the sarcophagus had two symbols on it. One Khaska recognized from the documents he had seen in the library of the Knights, all those months ago—the personal seal of Likran Treewind. The other was the symbol of the Archpaladin—presumably the deity that Likran had worshipped. He and Rynn met in the middle, at the back of the sarcophagus. It pained the cleric to see Likran’s body so obviously disturbed. Getting a better look, Rynn discovered that Likran’s body was missing its arms. It seemed logical to conclude the arms on the floor were from Likran’s corpse, and on closer inspection, the armor on them seemed to match the armor on the body.
Khaska looked at Rynn, and at Jenika, who was fully in the room, and looked prepared for anything. Ranna remained outside.
“Khaska,” Rynn whispered, “I’m not really sure how to proceed here. What shall we do?”
Khaska swallowed and thought through his options. “I have a few spells that ought to be of use,” he said. “Let us try those first. Be on guard.”
He did not have to say that last part. Both the ranger and the monk looked ready to spring into action. Jenika looked ready to leap any which way to face danger, and Rynn’s eyes kept scanning the room.
Khaska said a prayer under his breath, invoking his connecting to Teresh to cast Detect Magic. He certainly could feel through the spell that the silvery powder on the ground was magic, but he could not identify the school it was cast from. It was still a puzzle. He could think of very few spells that could last this long . . . he doubted anybody had been in the room since the goblins, and that would have been long enough ago that the magic effect should have faded.
Next he cast Find Traps, but his magic revealed none. Then, though he had little hope of success, he cast Find Object, focused on Kvanir. He had never seen the scimitar in person, so had to visualize and hope that the real sword was similar to the statue in the courtyard. Again, his spell failed to detect anything. The sword was likely not in the tomb.
Finally, he held out his holy symbol, invoking a final prayer to cast Detect Undead. A feeling like a cold winter blast settled into his bones as the spell became active, and he sucked in his breath sharply. Focusing, he was indeed able to sense that there was one single undead in the tomb with them. The spell was directional, and a bit of movement around the circle confirmed that the creature . . . still unseen . . . was in the circle, somewhere near the sarcophagus.
The cleric was puzzled. The creature had to know they were there. Why did it not attack? His eyes glanced at the silvery powder, glowing with some sort of magic. It seemed likely that the undead creature, whatever it was, was trapped by the magic. It would not assault them unless they entered the circle or disrupted the circle. For now, though he was cautious, it appeared they were safe.
“I think,” he said cautiously, “that we should leave and come back in the morning. I will tell you more once we are out of earshot.”
“Earshot of what?” asked Jenika.
“The creature here in the tomb.” He kept his eyes straight ahead, but motioned with his scimitar to the door. Rynn went first, and Ranna immediately calmed down, though was still nervous and shaking. Jenika went also, and then Khaska slowly backed out of the room. They advanced back down the tunnel past the cleared rubble, past the spider webs (which Jenika still observed warily), and made it almost back to the water before Khaska informed them of his speculations about the silver circle and the undead. “So if I prepare spells accordingly tonight, we will be in a much better position to fight this being, whatever it is. We are in no rush, so I feel it best to be careful.”
The emotions of finally finding the tomb left Khaska feeling weak and drained, the tension leaving him feeling unsettled. There were still questions to be answered. He would prepare Speak with the Dead again, to converse with Likran Treewind’s corpse, and they would rid the tomb of the undead creature, leaving Tawru’s friend to rest in peace once again.
Up in the ruins again, Rynn left to go forage for food and water, while Khaska meditated and prayed in front of Tawru’s statue, and Jenika meditated, trying to rid her body of the toxins from the centipede swarm. The ranger was able to find some berries as well as kill a fox in the woods, thus providing their evening meal. Though Khaska’s sleep was restless, nothing disturbed them during the night. In the morning, after the cleric’s prayers and preparations, they once again descended into the depths of the abandoned mine, speaking and conversing about tactics as they went. It was agreed that they would try to lure the creature out first by tossing rocks through the circle, and if that didn’t work, to try to disrupt the circle by throwing rocks first, then a torch or something else like that.
“I hope it’s not some kind of incorporeal undead,” said Rynn. “You’ll basically be on your own then, Khaska. Neither of us have magic weapons. I guess if that’s the case I would just keep us all healed.” Seth’s lessons back in Hammerdine had paid off a little in their discussions and preparations to fight this undead, whatever it was. The ranger made sure the healing wand was ready-to-hand in case it was needed.
“That thought has occurred to me also,” the cleric said, “but we must try. Treewind deserves better rest that he has been granted, and we must still place Loremaster Onasus’ brooch in the tomb. My ability to turn undead should prove useful, in any event. I am confident we will prevail.” His words shook just a little, indicating that he was not as confident as he had said, but neither of the others spoke up about this.
“Hopefully you’ll just smoke them, like you did some of those zombies back in Hammerdine,” said Jenika. Khaska shuddered, remembering well the victims of Therylassa in the Reaper’s secret shrine all those months ago.
After they passed the spider webs, but well before reentering the tomb, Khaska stopped and cast Protection from Evil on each of them. Now additionally protected by his divine magic, though it would only last a few minutes, they entered the tomb. Ranna, as before, began to growl and snarl, and would not come past the door.
Nothing had changed during the night. Not wanting to waste the spells he had just cast on the group, Khaska quickly picked up a rock from the small amount rubble just inside the doors and threw it across the circle. The rock sailed through the air, hitting the back wall of the tomb.
Nothing happened.
He picked up another rock, took a deep breath, and threw it at the circle with some force, hoping it would disrupt the magic.
The cleric’s aim was true, and the palm-sized rock landed right in the middle of the circle of powder, scattering grains of the silvery material into the air, and forming a small break.
A shriek erupted from the floor and a dark mass emerged from just inside the sarcophagus. Its cries echoed in their ears, shrieks and howls that made Rynn’s skin crawl, made Jenika falter for a moment, and made Khaska doubt his resolve, so evil and violent was the impression the creature made. The glittering powder that had spread in a puff of dust appeared to stick to the creature, and it shied away the small expanding silver cloud, moving rapidly to the other side of the circle. The creature’s shadowy essence coalesced into a vaguely humanoid shape with no discernible detail aside from a head and two arms, but attached to its right arm was a scimitar, perfectly formed, crisply outlined in inky blackness, clearly a mirror for Khaska’s and similar to the one that adorned the statue of Tawru above ground.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The glittering powder on it vanished, and as the puff of silver created by Khaska’s thrown stone settled on the ground, the creature began advancing slowly towards the newly formed break in the circle. It had no legs, and its lower portion morphed and moved over the floor as it advanced like some black fog. Jenika noticed that it moved such that it avoided the rock Khaska had thrown, which was faintly glowing with the silvery powder.
“It’s a wraith!” Khaska said, bringing his scimitar up. “Only my weapon will damage it.”
“Jenika! Dag’s warhammer! It’s magic!” Rynn shouted, as he suddenly realized that they did have another weapon that could harm the creature. Jenika grabbed Rynn’s haversack off the floor and reached in, pulling out the hammer as Khaska held out his holy symbol, his prayers ascending to Teresh as the creature slid through the opening only it could see, right above the break Khaska's thrown rock had formed.
His attempt to Turn Undead failed, and the creature swung at him. The crisply-defined ebony scimitar sliced through the air, knocking into Khaska and passing through the cleric. Khaska felt his soul grow cold and his body weaken as the dark magic swept past his defenses. Its strike had hit home.
Rynn was in a panic for a moment. He had no weapon to help! No way of harming the wraith! Then, a thought flashed through his mind, and he moved around the wraith, attempting to grab handfuls of the silvery powder. If the creature was avoiding the powder, perhaps the powder could damage it!
Jenika struck home, the warhammer smashing into what would have been its face. The strike landed and the creature shrieked as pieces of it spun off into the nether, vanishing as they disintegrated. Still reeling from the attack, Khaska attempted again to turn the undead, his fervent prayer echoing through the chamber. This time, the cleric’s divine magic was successful.
Shying away from the Maha’i’s holy symbol, which now blazed with holy light, the wraith retreated, going as far as it could in the tomb, for Khaska was blocking the exit. As it began to retreat Jenika clubbed at it with the warhammer, but missed, and Khaska swiped at it with his scimitar, but also missed. Rynn threw one handful of the powder at it as it passed by. It stuck to the creature, and the portion that it impacted seemed to ripple and distort. It had damaged it, a little. But then the creature finally reached the back wall and vanished.
Rynn was startled. “It’s just running away?”
“It will flee from me for a minute,” said Khaska. “And it can pass through walls, but it will not travel too far.” He pointed to where it had vanished into the wall. “It is likely right there, just out of our reach.”
Rynn almost laughed. “Well, at least we’ll have time to heal you up, if you want.” He reached for the wand of healing, and that’s when he noticed his hand. Much of the silvery powder had stuck to his hand, coating it in a thin sheen that faintly glowed. He dropped the dust from his other hand. It too was completely coated on the palm.
“This might be a good time to inspect the sarcophagus,” said Jenika, who moved over to peer inside. Unfortunately, a closer inspection didn’t yield any more clues than what they had already seen. However, as Rynn got closer and touched the edge, peering in, he noticed that the silvery powder on his hands also transferred to the sarcophagus edge. It seemed to stick to everything.
He glanced at Khaska, and it appeared they both had the same idea, and they spoke at the same time, hurriedly.
“I bet if we put this stuff on our weapons, it would help with the wraith!” said Rynn.
“Coating ourselves may be beneficial in deflecting the wraith’s attacks.” Khaska stated.
The two of them smiled, and then Rynn went to work picking up handfuls and spreading it on himself and on his weapons. Jenika coated herself and made sure some was on the end of Dag’s warhammer, while Khaska made sure to thoroughly coat his shield and armor in it, leaving a little bit for his scimitar at the end.
Thus prepared, Jenika and Rynn advanced to where the wraith had vanished, while Khaska stayed back. They did not have to wait long. Shrieking incoherently, the wraith erupted from the stone wall, its dark scimitar leaving a trail of shadow as it struck at Rynn, who managed to duck out of the way. Khaska was prepared, a prayer sounding through the crypt, and a blazing ray of Searing Light burst from his open palm. The divine light raced through the air and struck the wraith full on in what would be its chest, burning away portions of it as Rynn and Jenika both attempted to hit it with their weapons.
Still focused on Rynn, the creature’s scimitar struck out again, and this time the ranger could not dodge it. The thrust impaled the ranger in his chest, and Rynn felt his skin grow cold and his body weaken from the attack. Another ray of Searing Light blazed from Khaska’s hand, burning away virtually everything that was left of the creature. The remaining shadowy parts reformed again into that well-defined scimitar, now hovering virtually alone in the air, and again it struck at Rynn. The scimitar arced upward through his chest. Had it been a real sword it would have cleaved a slash from his navel to his neck, and the ranger again felt his life-force draining as Jenika missed again with Dag’s warhammer. The ranger stumbled to his knees, overwhelmed by the weakness and the nausea he felt from the attacks he had suffered.
Khaska entered the fray himself, swiping upward with a vicious blow that smashed into the dark scimitar. Then Rynn stood and thrust forward. His longsword skewered the remnants of the wraith, and the inky scimitar held for a moment, as if trying desperately to maintain its cohesion, but it could not. After a moment, the sword vanished, a wail coming from it that faded to nothingness as the darkness dispersed.
Rynn collapsed to his knees, weakened and cold from the attacks. He felt like his strength had left him, as if he had just gotten over a particularly serious bout of illness. Ranna ran up to him, no longer afraid of the wraith, licking at his face and whining her concern about him.
After taking a few deep breaths, Rynn pulled out the healing wand, using it to repair his injuries. The wraith’s magic had drained him somehow. The wand brought him up to full health immediately, but he still felt less than himself, physically. He also healed Khaska, but then sat down, his back propped up against the wall. “I think I’m just going to rest here for a bit,” he said. “You can talk with Treewind now, though we should put his arms back with his body.”
Khaska nodded and moved to retrieve them from the ground. He and Jenika pushed Treewind’s body back into the sarcophagus so it was resting once again as it should. Khaska tried his best to put the arms back at his sides, but it was obvious to his eyes that the damage to the body meant it would never quite look right. He had done as he could, and he was sure that Treewind would honor that attempt to do him some dignity in death. He spent a moment focusing in meditation before raising his holy symbol and then beginning the series of prayers to cast Speak with the Dead.
Ten minutes later, the spell was complete. Treewind’s corpse responded willingly and quickly, sitting up and looking right at the Maha’i cleric. The tension that was so palpably present when interrogating Dag’s corpse was completely absent. Khaska began the questions that were most present on his mind this morning.
“I am seeking the relics of a hero of my people, Tawru Khimmak Tovan Nem Rujdha. How and when did Tawru lose his horn?” he inquired.
“I am unsure. When he left us to free the slaves, his horns were intact. When we met again, one was broken off.”
“What was the evil that you said must be contained in the inscription here?” asked Khaska.
“The sword of Tawru, which you seek.”
“What are the nature, origin, and method of containment of the evil in Tawru's sword?”
“The sword was cursed when I met him after he freed the slaves. I had hoped that being buried in this shrine would keep it from ever being used for evil, because I know not how to undo the curse.”
The spell ended with that, and Khaska contemplated this new information.
“So someone came in here and took the sword?” Rynn said. “Maybe the goblins?”
“That may be true, but even if we stay to ask more questions tomorrow, the body only knows what Likran Treewind knew in life,” responded Khaska. He glanced over at Rynn, still sitting on the ground, absentmindedly scratching Ranna’s head, and Jenika. “Could we stay another day? If I prepared two castings of Speak with the Dead on the morrow we could ask six more questions. This is a rare opportunity that will not come our way again.”
Jenika blew a breath out. “You are both still injured from the wraith, and I’m not quite back to full myself from the centipedes. We could stay another day before beginning the walk back to Twilight. Rest up some more.”
Rynn nodded, and began to get to his feet. “I agree. And taking the day to hunt and enjoy the woods would probably rejuvenate me some. Don’t much care for this underground environment.”
“Then let us return on the morrow,” said Khaska, “to further converse with the body of Likran Treewind.”
It was barely late morning when they returned to the surface. The time they had spent in the mine had been a little over an hour or so. Rynn did spend the day wandering the forest nearby, though he didn’t go far. Jenika found a nearby stream that allowed them to wash off the silvery powder—Rynn was worried it would make them more visible when night fell. The ranger and the cleric together were able to bring down a large buck deer. Khaska used his clanking armor to good effect, driving the deer towards Rynn, who took it down with an arrow. They ate well that night.
The next morning Khaska prepared his spells for the day, and they again descended into the abandoned mine. Jenika still warily watched the spider webs as they went by, but again nothing attacked them.
The prayers were repeated, and Khaska again invoked the blessings of his God to speak with the body. Then he continued with his questions.
“Why did you leave your post in Hammerdine and retire, founding a monastery?”
“I was ashamed of my actions, and wished to live a life of contemplation and service instead of combat after I was forced to kill a dear friend, Tawru. The monastery was named for him.”
“What information about Tawru and his life did you neglect or alter in your written confession?”
“I included all that was relevant in that confession.”
“What are the identity and purpose of the silver dust encircling your coffin?”
“A special boon from the Archpaladin, maintaining a Consecrate spell here in the tomb to keep undead out and to partially negate the evil of the sword.”
That was it for this casting of the spell.
“So, the Consecrate spell didn’t work, then,” said Jenika. “Something got in here anyway.”
“Perhaps.” Khaska contemplated for a moment. “However, the wraith could not leave the circle. If the spell was there all of the time, did Treewind trap himself in with a wraith? That seems unlikely.” He looked around at the remains of the silvery powder. “The wraith was unusual, also. It seemed to have no form except for the sword, and that was clearly well-defined. As we blasted portions of it away, the part that always remained was the sword. It would be my guess that the wraith formed over time from the evil of the sword, and was trapped here in the circle and could not get out. That would explain both its chosen form and why it was stuck here. Whatever took the sword from the sarcophagus did not disturb the circle, so the wraith remained trapped.”
“You’re the expert on such things,” said Rynn. “I’m just glad that it’s dead.”
“As am I. I will proceed with the second casting.”
For the final time, Likran Treewind’s body was animated by the cleric’s divine magic.
“What about Twilight and its environs led you to establish this monastery here?”
“Isolated, but with dwarven miners nearby in Twilight that could help with construction and teaching me stonework.”
Khaska held up the brooch from Loremaster Onasus. “I have here a brooch from Loremaster Onasus, who claims he knew you in life and wished it to be placed at your tomb. What do you wish you could have shared with Onasus before your death?”
“I regret not being able to say goodbye to him, nor tell him the story of my failure, because it is not my story to tell.”
“What advice would you have given to a young Maha'i, who wishes to honor Tawru's memory—both fabricated and real—while at the same time striving to heal the rifts between his people and the other races of Jenoa?”
“I had hoped that there would never be such a one, but if one ever did discover the truth, I would hope that they could perhaps endeavor to restore the sword to its sanctified state, though I know not how.”
And then for the final time, the magic dissipated, and Likran Treewind’s corpse grew still.
Contrary to their experience with Dag, the mood was light and even a bit happy, even if every so slightly tinged with melancholy because of Treewind’s answers regarding his life and his penance. Rynn had felt no chills in his body at all during all the conversations with this dead person.
Khaska took the brooch from the Loremaster and put it on Treewind’s chest, placing the hands atop it as best he could to make it look natural. He signaled to Rynn and Jenika to help him, and they replaced the broken pieces of the sarcophagus lid, hopefully this time giving Treewind more peace than he had had previously. Khaska then moved to the foot of the sarcophagus, and knelt, his hands upraised, and his head looking up at the ceiling. He said a prayer in Maha’i, pleading with both the Dawnfather and the Archpaladin (thinking under the circumstances that praying to a deity not his own would be appropriate) that the tomb remain undisturbed this time. Then he ended with the traditional Maha’i incantation, specifically for this ally of Tawru, who had long passed.
> “May Markus keep you in the everlasting hills, Likran Treewind,
> And may you never know aught but happiness.”
They closed the door on their way out, this time, sealing it shut. Khaska felt rejuvenated as they journeyed back to the surface. He was closer to finding the sword, had delivered the brooch that Loremaster Onasus had given him to do so, and conversed (in a manner of speaking) with a dear friend of Tawru. His time had been well spent. As they climbed up the stairs leading out of the mine, he paused at the top, and glanced back down behind him.
“Thank you,” he whispered in Maha’i. He wasn’t even sure to whom he was speaking, Treewind, the gods, the spirits of his ancestors, but he had much to be thankful for. But now it was time to head back to Twilight, to try their luck and see if there was a cleric that could restore them. He was growing in his abilities and powers, but he was not able to cast that spell yet. Soon, perhaps.
Rynn was leading the way up the stairs out of the mines, past the dead goblins, and up to the main floor of the monastery. Ranna loped ahead to where the sun broke through. Rynn followed shortly after, breathing in the fresh air.
Ranna stopped, and after a moment, the ranger did too. He smelled something different. Ranna dropped lower to the ground, her teeth bared in a snarl.
“Attack!”
Goblins poured out of the surrounding hallways, intent on swarming the party. Rynn barely managed to unsheathe his sword when he was completely surrounded. Their blows brought him down in moments, still weak as he was from the wraith’s draining ability. He was unconscious in moments.
“Take them alive!” cried one. “Kagu wants them alive!”
Khaska fared a little better than Rynn, actually managing to slice one’s head with his scimitar before he too was completely surrounded and overcome. Jenika’s feet and fists lashed out, but there were simply too many. She did note, before their blows took her into unconsciousness, that they were not trying to kill them. The thought of why they would want the party alive chilled her before a club smashed into the side of her head, and everything went black.